


look back, look back

by VeryImportantDemon



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Andrei Isn't Here, Angst, Drabble, M/M, Pierre Is Sad, Poetic, Prose Poem, Survivor Guilt, but when is he not, kind of once again, post canon character death, what are tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 23:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12046704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImportantDemon/pseuds/VeryImportantDemon
Summary: The stone in front of the house was cracked with age, and Pierre's heart ached with the guilt of it, absolutely ached.





	look back, look back

The stone in front of the house was cracked with age, and Pierre's heart ached with the guilt of it, absolutely ached. He should not have let it come to this. Why did he? Why did he let it come to this? It was cruel of him, and unfair, and... Well...

Wrong.

It was very wrong of him. He should not have let the stone crack. He should not have let age take this place, this favorite of places. But... But he could not bring himself to return here, to this place. This was the last place he saw Andrei Bolkonsky. And after Andrei died, how could he come back? Andrei was supposed to be living here, alive, with his son Nikolushka and his wife Natasha and perhaps more children. Pierre would not be there, not in the way he longed to be there, but perhaps eh would come over for dinner. Perhaps he would write letters. Perhaps he would teach the children. But he would be there. And now?

Now the house was a corpse that kept no one.

Pierre takes a deep breath, lowering his head, almost in respect for the dying house in front of him. And the house really was dying. Not just the stone of the path in front of the house was cracked. The walls of the house itself were cracking. Ivy crawled up the face, covering the gaping maw of the body the windows formed. The ivy was like blood, he thought. The house was bleeding. The house was bleeding, and Andrei was bleeding, and Pierre was bleeding, too. Mostly, though, it was his heart that ached.

It had been years since he had set foot on this estate, in that house, in that room... Oh, that room.

He never forgave himself for not being there, ever, and he did not think he ever would. How could he? The only person he wanted to confess his guilt to was Andrei, and the only person he could not speak to was Andrei. His heart weeped at the thought. No more letters... No more letters...

When he was kept as a prisoner, only a few things kept him going. He wanted to know, had to know, if this life was worth living. The sound of Natasha's voice. And Andrei... Even thinking of Andrei gave him strength, strength he did not have. But when he made his way back to Russia, triumphant and only a little hurt... He found Natasha, which was wonderful. But he did not find Andrei. Because that would have been too easy, wouldn't it have? Far too easy. And it was something far too good for Pierre. Something he did not deserve.

He sucked in a breath, hunching his shoulder instinctively to protect against the snow. When had it started snowing again, he wondered quietly to himself. The snow jolted him out of his musings and brought him back to the reasons for his visit. He was going to enter and see where Andrei was when he passed away, and it was going to be okay. But when he tried to take a step forward... His limbs tightened up and he could not move an inch. He fumbled, almost falling face first into the snow-dusted stone path. His large feet caught himself and he did not fall, but he could not make himself do anything but stare at the house.

And stare.

And stare.

And stare.

Finally, he abandoned his quest. He was not a strong man. Pierre Bezukhov had never claimed to be a strong man, not like his Andrei. Someday, maybe, but not today.

He walked to the end of the path, stiff-legged and mechanical and cold, and he did not look back.

Pierre waited at the end of the path and thought for another very long stretch of time, but he did not look back.


End file.
